Over The Moon And Beyond
by blairdrof
Summary: [One Shot] What if Broooke and Peyton hadn't told each other exactly why their friendship couldn't go back to the way it was? This is the companion piece to When We Think There Won't Be A Dawn [Breyton]


**Disclaimer:** I don't own One Tree Hill. If I did, I would have taken Sophia out of the show just to have her all for myself ;) And the quote from the beginning belongs to Musset.

**Warning: **This contains slash. If you don't like, don't read. Rating due to swearing words and expressions.

**Author's Notes:** This fic is a companion piece to my other Breyton one shot "When We Think There Won't Be A Dawn". It is not necessary to read that fic to understand this one, but if you do, both fics will make more sense. For those who've already read the other fic, this part is from Brooke's point of view. Set right after episode 10 from season 4. Forgive me for any mistakes you may find, for English is not my first language. Anyways, I hope you like it. PLEASE, BE NICE AND REVIEW.

**To WritingMonkey and Novak Fan:** I did not write a sequel. I opted for a companion for "When We Think There Won't Be A Dawn". But I promise, I will make a sequel. There's an idea running around my brain and I hope I get to it soon.

**To the others who reviewed, PushMePullMe, apathy and shoe loo:** Thank you very much for reviewing on my other fic. This one is dedicated for all of you.

**OVER THE MOON AND BEYOND**

_By_

_Miss Waffles_

Musset once said: "There's no doubt that exist in men two hidden powers that fight to death. One of them, clairvoyant and cold, holds onto reality; it measures and weighs it up, and judges the past. The other power is thirsty for the future and launches itself to the unknown". He was right. If that statement was applied on me, he'd be. You see, you're probably wondering when the hell I got so… philosophical, for lack of a better word; well, let me explain you how I relate to Musset and then I'll tell you my story.

I've always had more parental freedom than most kids. Ever since the age of 6, I'd walk around the city by myself; and I basically lived at my friend's house. Seriously, if my clothes and bed had been there, I would have had my ID addressed to her house. Oh, by the way, _she_, my best friend, is Peyton Sawyer. Well, at least she used to be. If anyone were to ask me about the road my life has taken, I'd say I've been simply walking aimlessly, since I rarely act rationally, and when I do, it's way too late for that.

Lately I've been having the feeling that I've lost part of my life and that it wasn't really me who was acting; that the real act was actually performed by a soulless, irrational body. Some other times, I find the switch and turn it on, connecting with reality for short periods of time. It's in those times when I mess up more than usual. It's in those times when I tend to be a cold-hearted, hurtful bitch. It's in those times when I open my mouth and speak words that should have remained unspoken. It was in those times, when I lost the few things I had in life. I can't say I've lost everything, because I still have Haley and Nathan. And yes, Haley has been the only thing that has kept me alive the past few months, but she's not Peyton.

Hey, don't start complaining, I told you I was in a philosophical state of mind, though I'm starting to believe that insanity is my problem. Peyton and I. It's always been the two of us against the world. Neither had parental supervision and we could only hold on to each other to survive. Well, in fact, she did have supervision, until her mother died and her father went away on business. But it had been that way since we were kids. And it would have stayed that way if it hadn't been for one Lucas Scott. Tall, blond, blue eyed, charming, basketball player. The perfect guy if you ask me. Yet the moment he stepped into our tightly twisted world, the world Peyton and I belonged to, he only managed to ruin three lives.

Peyton was dating Nathan Scott back then, and even when we were the popular three around Tree Hill, I was single. It was simple really. All I had to do was hook up with Lucas and the four of us would have been the untouchable teenage elite. Surprisingly, that plan was actually working, I was indeed dating Lucas; that was, until I caught him making out with Peyton in her bed. The worst part was that I think he did it on purpose, I mean he couldn't have not known that Peyton's web cam was on. After that, and a never received denial of the facts from them, I forgave Peyton. You see, our friendship was too strong for that, and I still believe she must have had her reasons back then. As if our little public love triangle affair had been something academic, we unexpectedly took a year off. That hadn't been planned, of course, it just happened. I was busy getting Felix's benefits, Peyton was totally caught up in Jake and baby Jenny, and Lucas was dating, or pretending to, Anna, who turned out to be gay.

I went away to California for that summer. Broody Lucas told me less than five minutes before my departure that he loved me and, for some odd reason, I believed him. Thanks to that confession, I spent my WHOLE summer thinking about him. It still doesn't sink in that I let myself do that. Boy had I been stupid. Of course, as expected, during my absence, summer in Tree Hill had been quite uneventful, though the few events that did occur were major. Haley came back from tour, Dan Scott almost died, Nathan almost got himself killed and Peyton's mother showed up.

No, not the dead one. Her biological mom. Shocker, I know. I got back together with Lucas and then Peyton told me she still had feelings for Lucas. The first thought that entered my mind back then was 'What the fuck?' and my first movement was to slap her. I regret that so, so much. And despite regretting that day, the day we buried our so-called-strong friendship, I am somewhat thankful for it. Why? Because I got to realize that I never really wanted Lucas. All I had ever wanted had been right I front of my eyes and I never really got around to bringing my head out of my ass and see it. Peyton. That's all I wanted… and still want, even if it is utopist to wish for that.

That day, it all sank in. All the signs had been there, I just had to stop ignoring them. That explained why I kissed _her_ on Dare Night, which by the way was the best kiss I've ever had and in no way comparable to Lucas' kisses. Or my reaction when I found out Felix had been the one to write dyke on her locker. If he had written fag on Lucas' locker, I'm certain I wouldn't have gotten so enraged. It would also explain why I didn't want to leave that summer. I mean, yes, I had thought about Lucas. But honestly, I think I was just scared that Peyton would get back with Lucas while I was gone and by the time I came back she'd push me away. Or the way I reacted to the shooting. And again I say, if Lucas had been the one who got shot, I wouldn't have freaked out and felt so guilty, or so lost while he'd have been at the hospital. And at last, it explains why I've felt like someone or something has stomped on my chest and plunged my heart out without mercy for the past few months.

Only twelve hours ago, Haley and Lucas were taken to the hospital. Five hours and a half ago, I talked to Peyton for the last time. And I think I fucked up for real. I'm having an internal debate on whether I should give up on her or take the more-than-just-acquaintances friendship she's offering me. After visiting Lucas and Haley once again, I came back home. Well, it's not even my home. I'm at Rachel's. And since I've been moving around like an unwanted lost puppy, I dare say I'm pretty much homeless and pitied. I know what you're thinking, what the hell have I been doing alone for five hours, right? Well, to tell you the truth, and here comes another shocker, I've been writing. I've been writing a poem about Peyton for her.

I was sitting by the swings, some stray leaves under my feet, and after a short moment of contemplating Peyton's image in my head, I got inspired. I thought about just how beautiful she is, even though she doesn't think so. I thought about her hair; the way those messy blond curls hang around her face. And how wild and free her hair looks when the sun shines upon it giving the locks a golden glow, making her look like an angel. I thought about the way her skin glimmers after a long ass cheerleading practice and how it looks so soft at the same time. I thought of how flawless her skin felt each time I'd rub her arm reassuringly or I'd caress her cheek during her sleep.

I thought about how her lips part when she's under a sleep slumber, fact I know of from all the times we've shared a bed. And of how much I love her smirk. God, I love her smile. And I'd love it even more if I were the one to put it on her face. I love her lips and how faint the taste of coffee was that one time I kissed her. Now that I think about it, she has great pouty lips, even if she doesn't pout all that often. I also thought about her cheeks, and how I reveal in the feeling of brushing my fingers slightly upon then when she's asleep trying not to pinch them sweetly and wake her up. And I thought about her eyes, my biggest inspiration, those hazel eyes. They're like honey and each time I look at them, I feel like the honey melts and she lets it drip off her allowing me to see the real emotions that cross her features. Sometimes I even have the sensation that the honey hardens and she puts up a barrier. Or, at least, that is what has been happening lately. Other that that, I thought about her shoulders and neck and just how hard I had to restrain myself not to lick and kiss her exposed skin at the banquette, she did look yummy on that dress and green suits her perfect. I also recalled just how well caps suit her, she wore a green one during psycho Derek's period. And, I thought of how much I love her sarcasm and how much I miss it. You see, people think I am not smart enough to realize when she'd being sarcastic or cynical, but I do and I love it. It's a huge part of who she is and I often found myself pretending not to understand them so she'd either laugh or make another one just as sarcastic as the previous one.

Now, after taking a long, relaxing shower (cold shower, might I add), I'm heading to Peyton's. Going back to Musset, I've decided to let the thirsty power inside me take control and take me to whatever happens with Peyton and I. In case you still don't get it, I'm going to give her this poem and confess my feelings for her. I've waited long enough and I've wasted enough time in Lucas and way too much energy so I won't let her get back together with Lucas without telling her first.

The car ride to her house went by fast. Or maybe I was just too wrapped up in my own thoughts. It's only when I run a hand through my hair that my fingers make contact with my face and I realize that I've been crying. Shit, I bet my eyes look like two olives. Great. Good thing I didn't get run over by someone while being so distracted. Once I've arrived to her driveway, I turn the engine off and get off the car quickly. I know it must sound insane, but I'm feeling ecstatic and nervous at the same time, and the butterflies in my stomach aren't really helping. Before I acknowledge what I'm doing, I'm in front of her door. I try to open it like I used to do before and as I fail that attempt; I realize that it's locked. I search my jeans' back pockets and thank whatever God reminded me of taking the spare key she once gave me with me today. My heart is beating so hard that I can't even hear the dull creaking of the door as I crack it open.

I take a quick look around and make my way to the stairs. I don't know if my heartbeat is deafening again or if I'm just trying not to make noise, but I somehow manage to climb up until the last step without emitting sound at all. I fix my partly wet auburn locks and my pink hoodie, and I straighten up a little bit. I take the few remaining steps to reach her bedroom's doorframe and once I do, I stop in my tracks to take in the sight.

Peyton in sitting by her desk as usual, and I take the chance to take in her appearance. Her hair is quite tamed today yet it's still a little messy, and I realize that, like me, she's changed her outfit. She's wearing black cargo pants with lots of pockets, which I, myself, find utterly strange; and a tight fitting navy blue plain t-shirt. I move my gaze lower and see that she's still wearing her black Converse. As I take my time to study her a little bit more, I notice that she's sealing an envelope. Was she writing a letter? Strange. When she puts her pen back down on the desk, I knock on her door. Oops! She's frozen, I think I might have scared the shit out of her. Oh, well, too-proud-to-show-my-emotions Peyton won't face me until there's no more trace of fear on her face and I smile to myself realizing that I still am the person who knows her the most.

I feel like an excited puppy who's about to get to it's new home when she silently turns around to face me. When I see her eyes, I come to the conclusion that this will be harder than I thought and I will have to just do it and leave. If not, I might regret it and if I don't tell her, I might as well. After a few seconds of complete silence, she blushes and stands up. I don't want her to kick me out, I don't think she will, but still, I need her to be sitting when I pour my heart out for her; so I hold up my hand and motion for her to sit on her bed, since it's the only place where we both fit. She looks at me hesitantly and does as I tell her then lies back. Good, at least we'll be quite comfy.

I should as well get comfortable, this can take a while. Besides, I bet I can get a nice close-up view if I sit down. Instead, I plop down next to her and lie down, and I'm aware that we're closer than we should be, but I'm not complaining. I'm not really sure of what to do next, so I roll on my side to face Peyton and buy some time to figure this out. I think she isn't mad, because she turns on her side too and smiles, which confirms my thoughts. She opens her mouth and I think she's going to yawn, since I know very well that, like me, she hasn't slept since the accident; but then I realize she's about to speak. I can't let her do that. Hell, if I do, I'll never get to why I'm here. I don't speak, in turn, I hold up a finger against her lips and mentally tell her to remain silent and she seems to get the point.

I can't do this. I mean, look at her, she looks so… broken and yet she's the most beautiful soul I've ever had the pleasure of seeing. I look down, since I'm not really able to look at her in the eyes right now. I'm afraid she might realize exactly what I'm about to do, so I fix my gaze and my hands on my hoodie's hem. Think Brooke, think. Ugh, I have to do something or else she'll see just how nervous I am, if she hasn't already. I bit down my lip in frustration and look at her one more time. Dear God, I'm definitely positive she got even more gorgeous during the short time I was looking down. She's looking at me and I can see the question in her eyes but I can't tell her yet. No. I should test the waters first.

I open my mouth yet I still haven't decided what to say. After what I think has been a silence filled with tension I ask, "What were you doing?" Geez, I sound as shy as a socially inept guy asking a girl out. What is wrong with me? Well, she's smiling, so it can't be bad, right? That's a good sign, right? Yeah, she IS smiling but she awkwardly moves her hand up and lets it rest between our faces, causing the little bump of flesh to block part of the view I had of her face.

"I was writing a letter" she says calmly. Well, that's not what I expected. I thought she was drawing or brooding like she usually does, but apparently she has changed her hobbies. I think I am nodding, but I'm not sure about that since I'm too busy wondering who that letter is addressed to. I mean, she can't send her dad a letter, he's on a boat. My most probable answer is Jake, but I don't want to stick my foot in my mouth so, "To whom?" Oh man, that came out loud didn't it. No, no, no, I'm blushing, and even if I'm not, it's pretty obvious that I'm all flushed.

"Honestly? To you" she whispers startling me. Damn I zoned out! Wait. To me? Peyton, what the fuck are you talking about? I feel something stinging at my mouth and I realize I am biting on my lower lip quite harder that I must have intended on. Why the hell was she writing a letter to me? We see each other every single day. Before I can't stop myself, I mutter another question, "What does it say?" yet I can't stop my voice from cracking slightly. I know I had a purpose when I first showed up here, but now I'm curious about what that letter might say. She closes her eyes and for a moment looks quite reluctant. Instead of answering right away, she looks up and her eyes bore into mine. Well, if she keeps looking into my eyes like that, two things can happen. Either she burns a hole through my head or I grab her face a kiss her senseless.

"The truth," she states and I have the feeling that she's avoiding the subject. I guess that letter has a purpose. As much as I know her, she is being way more cryptic than she usually is, which is kind of creepy. "What are you doing here?" she speaks finally asking a question of her own. Well, I roll my eyes to myself and realize that ever since I came in, I've been the one interrogating her. She said that letter contains the truth. What truth? That she loves Lucas? Maybe she's just apologizing and formulating reasonable arguments as to why our friendship should go back to the way it was before. I believe my eyes have glazed over because when I avert my eyes to her once again she appears to be studying me quite intensively.

I remember she has asked me a question and a sudden wave of courage washes over me, so I know it's now or never, "I-I am here because," Now what the fuck was that? When did I begin stuttering? Boy, I'm so pathetic! She seems to agree with me because she smirks while I mentally kick myself and force myself to continue. Somehow, her expression encourages me and this time I don't stutter, "I haven't been completely honest to you, Peyton" I whisper and I know that my voice sounded something between throaty and husky. In response, she breathes out a heavy sigh and states, "Well,"

Stop her! Talk you fat ass cheerleader! I reprimand myself for thinking of myself as a cow. Wonder why I did that. I AM pretty. Anyways, I stop Peyton from unintentionally messing up, "wait, let me say this now. If I don't, I'm going to burst and I won't be able to say it again. So let me speak," and make a fool of myself. She merely nods in approval, therefore I lick my lips and continue, "I know I've been a total bitch to you," here we go. She actually looks shocked to hear that, however, she doesn't interrupt and just nods again, "but the truth is, after what happened with Lucas and Haley, I've been analyzing a few things," why is she looking at me as if I were a mad woman? She frowns, a reaction that somewhat scares me, but I go on, "when I said that we couldn't go back to the way we were. There's a reason to that. As well as to why before is gone," I pause and since she hasn't muttered a word after I began, I start to believe she's freaking out. Honestly, I'm impressed. Who would have thought I would have made it this far and still form coherent sentences? Holy fuck, I'm rambling… to myself, and it sucks. Silence invades the place and I hope she breaks it in some way that indicates me that I should tell her. To my own dismay, she doesn't, and I'm forced to break it myself. But I can't do it. I have to change the subject. "what does your letter say?"

She raises an eyebrow and opens her mouth, which remains hanging open for a moment. I understand that she's confused, but she can't possibly say she doesn't even want to be friends, can she? Please don't let her push me away, please, please, pretty please. I feel tears welling up behind my eyes, and a lump is forming in my throat. My eyes sting and my retinas burn. She's killing me and the lump doesn't even let me breath, let alone tell her to say something. As if she has sensed my anguish, her voice finally reverberates in the room, "Brooke, you were saying something important, don't leave me hanging like this" Crap, she wants me to continue. Come on, Brooke! Gather up some courage and spit it out! I love you, Peyton. Meh. Just thinking about saying it makes heat rise to my cheeks and I know they're stained with pink right now.

She smiles a small yet warm smile and my heart flutters. There's nothing to afraid of. She won't push you away. She won't push you away. I repeat that like a mantra and breath out slowly, "The reason to why we can't go back to the way we were," I start, "to why before is gone," ohh, Miss Sawyer is impatient. I swear, if I don't speak soon she's going to shake me out of my bones to make the words come out, "is that," oh well, now that I'm confident enough, it won't hurt to make her wait, will it? Though, now that I look at her, gee. Thank God I know she would never punch me, because right now she's looking at me more than expectantly and I'd say it's both creepy and intimidating. I swallow past the lump, and it doesn't seem to go away, however, it starts fading, "my feelings have changed, Peyton" I reach down into my back pocket without her noticing to get the neatly folded piece of paper that exposes my heart, only to find it empty. NO! I forgot the poem! How can I be so stupid?!

Looks like fate wanted me to speak the words after all, I have no other choice. There's no going back now, "What I'm trying to say is… I love you" there. I should come up with a place to move away to pretty soon, at least before Peyton kills me. Even worse, before Lucas kills me. I look at Peyton only to confirm my fear. She's freaking out. Her eyeballs have almost fallen on the mattress and her jaw has pretty much hit the comforter. "Then why can't we get what we had back?" she asks and bet she sees my eyes widen, because she seems to be processing the information. "Wait," she begins, "are you saying that you're in love with me?"

I'm speechless. She didn't know that was what I was talking about? I thought that, since she is smarter than me, she would have put the pieces together by now, but apparently she hasn't. I can hear myself mumble something along the lines of 'You hate me, don't you?', but I'm not sure those are the exact words because I, myself, can barely make out what I'm mumbling. She leans forward. I can't believe she's about to kiss me. Allowing excitement to take over me, I grab her head with both hands and lock my lips with her in a passionate kiss. I feel the heat radiating from her hand dissipate only to feel her hand being replaced upon my cheek, stroking it softly. My eyes are closed, and I want to memorize every single sensation provoked by her lips moving along with mine. I bite down on her lip and am welcomed with a tingling feeling caused by what I assume is either a smile or a smirk. I have the urge to taste her lips, therefore I dip my tongue out to trace her bottom lip first and even before I reach her upper lip, she opens her mouth. Oh my God, did she just moan? I know my reputation used to say I'm easy, but how not to give in under such a turn on? I mean, this is so erotic; I'd orgasm if I wasn't controlling my raged hormones. She pulls away and as I open my eyes, she mimics my motions.

I can't help the sheepish grin that spreads through my face when I see hers. My, my, P. Sawyer, you're beat red right now. That kiss really meant something, I mean, otherwise, she wouldn't be so worked up. Hehe. I guess Brooke Davis can make anyone hot and bothered.

"That's what it says," huh? I look at her, how can her brain work so fine after the best make out session I've ever been part of. Again, what is she talking about? I tilt my head to a side and her grin widens, "my letter says that I love you, Brooke," AWWW! I smile and I melt inside, "I'm in love with you" God, can this get any better?

She smirks once again earning yet another smile from me. I can't contain myself and start kissing her face. I kiss her eyelids, her cheeks, her forehead, her nose, her lips, her chin. Everything. I pull away when I'm done and grab her hand intertwining our fingers. I know my brain is getting way ahead of myself, but I can't help but wonder what making love to her will be like. I have my fair share of experience in that area, but I've never been with a girl before. And I know that it might not be fantastic, but just the fact that it's Peyton, the person I care the most about, will make it mean so much more that it'll end up being perfect. Our breathing has come back to normal now and just when I think she can't be anymore sweet, she brings a hand up to my face and brushes her fingertips against my cheek. I'm mesmerized by the feeling of her touch, that has taken a whole new meaning to itself and lean into it then say, "Peyton, we belong together, don't we?" I know we do, I just need a little reassurance, which I gladly accept when she envelopes me in a loving embrace.

We kiss one more time and she breaks away for some bizarre reason I have no idea of. I'm quite confused as she untangles her hands from my hair; hence I remove my head from the mattress and place in on her chest instead. Mmm. Her heartbeat is calming. I could listen to it for the rest of my life. I realize she hasn't answered yet. As if on cue, she smiles whispering, "Yes, we do," and I smile against the fabric of her t-shirt right below her collarbone, "all that matters is that we're together now," true. I'm radiating happiness right now. I start tracing invisible patterns around her stomach through her t-shirt with my finger and she writhes under my touch. Yeah, she's ticklish like that. She giggles in response, and I'm sure my own giggles are muffled by her clothes. Then she says, "I love you, Brooke"

I look up and realize I could drown in those gorgeous eyes of hers. I peck her on the lips and whisper, "I love you too, Peyton" Well, Musset was wrong. Those two powers that surface in human's personality are not opposites. Those two powers are meant to work together to reach an ultimate goal. They are meant to be combined by men to reach that goal. That's what I did, and look where it got me? Not bad huh? With that thought in mind, I fall asleep.

I can only say, Musset probably got his heart broken sometime, but he never fell for Peyton Sawyer.


End file.
